


Let Me Occupy Your Mind

by TehChou



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Erik is a Troll, Kink Meme, M/M, Mind Control, Mindfuck, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehChou/pseuds/TehChou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles meets a stranger on a bus who has something new for him to listen to.</p><p>Written for this prompt of the kink-meme: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6192.html?thread=8361776#t8361776</p><p><i>I just have this really sexy image in my head of Charles, naked and deeply entranced, hips swaying, mouth parted, eyes half-lidded, helplessly following Erik's siren song deep into the forest at night. Followed by sex in which everything Erik does is possessive and claiming and everything Charles does is slow and sensual and languid. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Occupy Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Gotye Your Heart's a Mess http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_CM5-gel6o

“Someone _roofied_ you?!” Raven shrieks, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

Charles sighs and cards a hand through his hair.

“I don’t think you can. . . ‘roofie’ someone with music, darling,” he replies, bland.

“I don’t think the _semantics_ are the issue here, Charles,” she snaps, then cringes, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- that’s not what I meant.” She flops down next to him, scrubs her hands over her face.

“It’s alright,” Charles says and absently marks something in heavy red on his paper. In his other hand he toys with a small bauble that glints in the half-light. His stress relief has become rather tactile, lately. “I’m alright, I am.” There’s a silence, incredulous. She stares blankly at a flaking scale, standing out dry and colorless against vibrant blue. She picks at it and Charles continues to peruse his essay.

“How did,” she stops, seems to dither, then goes ahead. “How did someone mindwhammy _you_ , anyway?”

He looks up, laughs; the idea has occurred to him as well.

“I think, I think he used it against me,” he starts when he’s sobered, thoughtful. “It was like- like I was open, all the way open, but _focused_. I couldn’t- didn’t- didn’t want to leave. . . .” His voice trails off, like he’s forgotten to put voice into his words.

Raven lays a hand against his arm.

“Charles,” she says, hesitant, a little raise on the end like she’s not sure if it’s a question or not. Charles blinks himself back into reality.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t- what were we discussing? Right. It’s alright, I think I understand, now.. If he tries again I can- I can stop him.”

“Right,” Raven says slowly.

 _Would you want to?_

 

He meets him on a bus.

Charles sits across from him, half the length of the seating to the right. He is handsome and at first, that is all he registers; a fleeting impression of sharp cheekbones and tan, lean lines and then he looks down and away, occupying himself with his own business. He has homework to check and grade, busy work given to the inexperienced TA.

“Hello.” A voice, above his bowed head, deep and low. Charles doesn’t jump, he’s felt him move towards him, a heavy beat of drums signifying his mind; he likes Metal. Charles looks up and smiles.

“Hullo,” he replies. The man’s arms are draped over the seat before him, the earbuds dangling around the shells of his ears, hanging unused.

He really is very handsome. Charles turns up his smile, just a little bit. His fingers still on the keys of his laptop.

“What are you listening to,” he asks, for something to say. The stranger shrugs his lean shoulders.

“Nothing special,” he answers. “I have better. My own music.”

“You’re in a band?”

“Well, I make music,” he replies, a touch evasively. He rises from his seat, fiddling with his player, slots himself in next to Charles. He pulls one of the earbuds from around his ears.

“Do you want to hear,” he asks, offering the bud to him, the tiny speck of electronics cradled in his comparatively large fingers. Charles’ eyes flick down. He has nice hands.

“I think, I think I’d like that, yes,” Charles says to the handsome stranger. The stranger smiles a lipless smile and leans closer, slotting it into his ear. He brushes against a curled lock, tucking it out of the way. He smells like male cologne, sharp and heady. Charles leans in, just a little.

“Erik,” the stranger introduces himself, far removed from the sound flowing into Charles’ senses, and isn’t that surprising? This is not the harsh wailing of metal, it is sweet and sinuous, mellow and it warms.

It eats its way into his mind.

“Charles,” he replies, absently. Someone is petting his hair, and it’s soothing, soothing like the low baritone humming through him, vibrating. Little tremors run up and down his arms and gooseflesh sweeps across his skin.

Charles finds himself almost without his volition swaying in time.

“This is- you’re very good,” he tells the stranger, _Erik_.

“Thank you,” he says and he sounds amused. Curious. Charles’ turns his mind to his, opens to him but the music is there as well, flowing and rolling like an ocean deep inside.

Except. . . except in oceans he wouldn’t want to drown.

“I--” Charles says, then forgets what he wanted to say. Instead, his lips shape soundless words, wrapping around vowels, tasting them. A thumb swipes over his parted lip, touching softness. His tongue brushes against it’s pad. His eyes close, shuttering away irrelevant sensation to better make room for the music. The fingers are a part of it, wrapped up in the flow and if the stranger stops touching him he isn’t sure what he’ll do.

He _wants_.

“Will you come with me,” Erik asks, the sound of his voice melting into the sounds curling low in Charles’ body.

He isn’t sure what he replies, but whatever it is Erik, _Erik_ , is satisfied with it and when the bus squeals to a stop Charles finds himself taking his hand and being led away, the string of the earbuds hanging between them like fate.

 

He has been called by names, Max, Erik, Magnus, and, once, memorably, in a far away world _Magneto_.

He likes Erik, though. It holds up well against the harshness of the world he finds himself in. It rings sharp to the ear, quick and cruel, a single syllable to encompass the lack of his compassion.

But he doesn’t feel uncompassionate today. Charles makes a lovely companion, the straight, narrow lines of his hips and the softness of his limbs encasing the steel revealed in the power of his stride. He sways with willowy ease as he follows Erik down the dirt streets.

Yes, he likes him, very much.

The beat pounds between them. It’s in the air, alive. Each wire transcends, every little electronic jolt runs through metal and every turn runs through Erik; he’s playing a tiny, pocket-sized game and Charles, pretty Charles is his toy.

And _Charles_ doesn’t that just fit? All rolled up and hiding behind clothes years too old for him, wrapped like an uninteresting gift. But no matter, he can’t hide from Erik and there’s no need for decorum here where packed earth gives way to deer paths and endless trees towering over them like slow-moving monoliths.

Charles’ fingers loop under, around the buttons at his shirt, busying themselves with coming undone. He shrugs out of it, sliding from his shoulders to flutter to the ground like discarded wings. His lips are parted in silent ecstasy as his fingers explore himself.

His undershirt follows, shimmying down his hips. His feet barely stutter in their rhythm when he slides it down his thighs and unrestrains himself from it. He toes his shoes and socks off next. They join the growing trail of garments littering the path behind them like, shedded secound skin. Each removal is an unveiling, petals stretching in the fresh air. Erik hungers, even as the shade of the deep trees casts him in heavier shadow; a new garment. He is beautiful, wild and raw.

Erik stops them beneath the branches of an ancient tree, fingers curling around the softness of his cheeks and pulling him in, unable to hold himself back. He kisses him, tastes his fragrance, wet and warm. Charles yields to him with mindless grace, parts his lips and opens his mouth. Erik pulls back to look at him, hands stroking up and down his bare arms. Charles is kneading himself helplessly, hips rocking from side to side. The bulge of his cocks stands out from his undergarments, his last scrap of fabric, heavy in his flexing hands. Erik smiles, halfway to a smirk and works his fingers under the fabric, stroking the vulnerable skin where his groin meets his thigh. Their fingers brush together, a layer of fabric between them. Erik slides it down and Charles obligingly steps out of it. Charles’ helpless cries go a little lower, a little louder, a little deeper as skin is bared to skin and Erik carefully pulls his hand away from himself, ghosting a kiss over his knuckles.

“Not yet, liebling,” he murmurs against the skin stretched taught over bone. He lets go, slips out of the pack strapped to his back, sets it with a rustle of leaves onto the ground beside him. He pulls out his end of the music, shucks off his shirt and his pants and when he’s naked, slots it back into his ear.

Charles is complacent when he sinks down to the moss covered ground, swaying to his knees

“Do you want me,” Erik asks, towering over him. He circles a hand over the soft, flushed skin of his cheek.

“Yes,” Charles says to the canopy of leaves over head.

“Are you sure,” Erik asks, stroking lower, circling a hand loosely around his neck. It looks very pretty there.

“Yes,” Charles repeats, dreamily. Erik smile grows into a hint of straight teeth, wraps a hand around the back of his head, nudging him forward. Charles obliges, tongue depressed, welcoming and open. Erik’s cocks slides past those soft lips, into the engulfing heat of him. Erik sighs and his fingers flex tighter in his hair. Charles lets him with a pliant complacency, eyes still closed.

“Open you eyes, darling. Let me see them,” Erik requests.

Immediately they open reflecting the deep twilight of shade. Erik rocks into him, into the slick heat of his mouth.

“Deeper,” Erik murmurs, thrumming down the line between them. Charles’ throat goes as slack as his welcoming mouth. His head bobs in time to the rhythm. Time stretches on like that indefinitely, slick wet heat engulfing his cock, need pooling inside, soft hair between his fingers, each flex of tongue like a full-body massage, running straight to his toes. Erik sighs, Charles sucks him deeper as the tempo slows. Erik’s fingers tighten in his hair.

Charles looks good full up, mouth shiny with spit and come pooling in his mouth, filling his hollowed cheeks. Erik strokes an obsessive line down from his hair to down over his shoulder as he lets his breathing slow. His come spills from Charles’ lips as he resumes whispering lines to the liquid song they’re sharing. Erik drags a finger through it, rubs it between them, then lays his hand on the side of his cheek once again, to pull him in and kiss him, tastes himself like a brand.

When he pulls away it’s with a great reluctance. It is a loss he feels throughout his body, every fiber of himself calling him back, calling him to take this boy, to drag him to the ground, to spread him open and wide and to slide right in into his welcoming, giving heat.

His nails leave little red welts scattered across his pale skin when he turns away.

He knees beside his pack. From inside he pulls a thin roll, a blanket. He spreads it out over the moss, dips back into the pack and pulls out a tub of lubricant, spinning the cap with deft fingers. He lays it beside it.

Let it never be said that Erik isn’t a gentleman.

At Erik’s prompting Charles lays back, a hand to his chest, over his heart, feeling the beat of it _thump thump_ in time with the beat. Every inch of Charles has become the music, melted into it, every breath and every movement dependant on it, dependant on _Erik_.

He crawls on top of his body, pressing him down and Charles sighs and melts under him. The roll of his body as he sways is intoxicating. Erik straddles his naked thighs and takes hold of his wrists, extending them over his head to get a better look. against him, the velvety skin of his cock against the skin of his stomach. Charles’ lips fall open on a sigh.

“Spread your thighs,” he asks of him. “Let me see.”

They shift as he obliges, the soft rustling of the leaves a counterpoint to the music flowing between them.

Erik hums, stroking up and down the soft flesh.

“Lovely,” he tells him and turns away for a moment to dip two fingers into the tub of lubricant.

It’s simple to tell the music to relax him down deep, makes it so easy when he slides two fingers into him, when he stretches inside. Charles rolling body impales itself on those fingers, Erik has very little work to do and he’s so silky sweet inside that he doesn’t really mind the work that’s left.

His fingers stroke and curl and sight of himself disappearing into that infinite softness is incensing. Charles squirms and sighs, long and content.

“Roll over,” Erik requests, stroking his damp hair from his eyes, still with his fingers deep inside. Charles sighs and curls into himself, then stretches out onto his belly. Erik finds himself caressing the swell of his ass, fascinated by the way he stretches around him, imagines himself buried deep.

He withdraws his fingers, wound thin with impatience and slides into Charles’ body, cock still slick with his spittle, claiming his body as thoroughly as he’s claimed his mind.

Charles wraps tight around him, pressing deliciously in on all sides. Erik anchors a hand in his hair, _he loves his hair, so pretty like a girl’s_ , and pulls back, marvelling at the fine arc of his spine. Charles lets him without a struggle, without going tense, only a small noise. Erik slips in deeper.

Erik bites a kiss into the side of the neck

His eyes are blank and glassy as he cries out, soft instinctual cries that part from his throat to float around them. Their bodies rock in the bed of leaves. Erik’s hands are wrapped tight around his soft wrists, his heart beat flutters beneath his palms, incensing him. He squeezes tight, feels it stutter and swell, fascinated. Charles’ fingers curl into the leaves, creamy to match the autumn fall.

It’s trance-like; a timeless moment stretched so long that it feels like it will never end. Charles is hot around him and Erik’s mind is white and blank with pleasure, burning up from the inside. There is nothing else, nothingness surrounds them, they exist in a vacuum and they are gloriously alone together.

As much Charles can be said to be present.

He undulates beneath him, rolls with an absent enthusiasm, a grace that Erik has ever found before in the conscious; they are dreaming together and it roils between them. Erik thrusts, Charles yields. There is no pain here, only endless, timeless waves of pleasure that mount inside him, building and building, thrusting harder and deeper until Charles’s is bent beneath him like a master-less puppet.

Erik buries his nose in his hair, one arm wrapped around his chest, fingers brushing the skin of his throat and comes.

They collapse together like that, splayed over the scratchy blanket. Charles makes no noise of protest at the wiry weight of Erik pressed into him, but all the same he rolls off of him, stretches out on his side beside him. For a moment, they just breathe, Erik with his head supported by a bent arm and Charles laying on his side with his arms wrapped pillowed beneath his head. Erik absently notes that sometime during their love-making Charles came; there’s a sticky shine embedded in the swatch of his hair at his groin. Erik reaches out a hand to trail a hand over it. Charles opens his mouth and sighs. Erik smirks and takes his hand away.

“I wonder, Charles,” he muses when he can breathe, again. “If your mind is as pleasant as your body?” He draws a pattern in the air with his free hand, fingers moving with absent intent. The earth shifts around them, barely noticeably. Tiny slivers of metal form a shape around his flowing fingers, glinting in the filtered sun.

“A gift for a gift, but gifts are not free,” Erik says, fingers twisting and changing. The metal coalesces. Charles stares into the space between them. Erik chuckles and leans forward, until they’re entangled in each other’s space once more. He raises him up to his as he presses the bauble into his hand, slides the bud from his ear, disconnecting him from the music and replaces it with his voice.

“See you, again, meine schöner Junge.”

 

Charles wakes in the middle of the forest, alone and naked, kneeling atop a heavy wool blanket. He blinks, disoriented and confused, sluggishly reaching out with his mind.

 _Hello?_

Quiet, too quiet, full of empty, uncaring static. He tries, again.

 _Hello?!_

Silence. He brushes up against nothing more then the dim minds of forest creatures; a mouse in a hole, a faun curled into the warmth of her mother, nothing and no one.

He stumbles to his feet, limbs like loose jelly, finds when he anchors his fist into the ground to stand that there is something hard and cold clenched in his fist. He leans back against the tree and carefully, ( _he aches, why does he ache?_ ) bends down to wrap the blanket around his chilled form as he uncurls his clenched fingers and studies it.

It’s a rose in miniature, with thick, full petals, parted like metallic lips. Looking at it reminds him of something, tiny whirls of memory picking at his mind. He remembers the bus; remembers his work; remembers-

The world goes disconcertingly grey around him. He swallows a gasp and grits his teeth. He’s not used to his own thoughts fighting against him, that’s something that he observes in others, nothing more.

He takes a deep, steadying breathe and wraps the blanket more securely around his form. His finger re-curl over the polished, shiny metal, shutting it away as he pushes off from the clinging bark of the withered tree and takes his first steps towards civilization and home.

 _Steel eyes and a knife-sharp smile-_

He’ll remember.

 _”See you, again.”_


End file.
